


That was my heart, the drums that start off night and day

by grasslandgirl



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, also famous musician au but that's more background, but its a more contemporary setting idk just go with it, d20 gift exchange 2020, emotionally intelligent gorgug, fig and gorgug's friendship means the world to me, its a no magic au but also i use fh town and city names, like the sig figs are a thing and they're famous but its not ABOUT them being famous yk, sig figs like significant figures, so does adaine and ayda's but their less of a focus here sorry, technically its a cafe/bookstore combo type sitch but. you know, yet again sav over uses italics and claims that its a stylistic choice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grasslandgirl/pseuds/grasslandgirl
Summary: The album was finally starting to come together. She’d emailed a few lyric pages and some rough melody recordings to Gorgug and Riz with a positive response; but she couldn’t stop thinking about one of Gorgug’s passing comments.They're nice,he’d told her a few nights ago on the phone,gentler than you usually write. Sweeter. Like you’re singing to someone specific again.Fig loved Gorgug, he was her best friend, but it was kind of terrifying how perceptive he could be at times, how he could see down to the very heart of her without even trying.Like you’re singing to someone specific again. Fuck.
Relationships: Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth, Figueroth Faeth & Gorgug Thistlespring
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	That was my heart, the drums that start off night and day

**Author's Note:**

> this is my contribution to the d20 2020 gift exchange!! happy holidays to lauren [_@mayodad_](https://mayodad.tumblr.com/)on tumblr, i was so ecstatic to get to write this for you, and i hope you enjoy it!!!  
> much thanks to the ever-wonderful casey [_@aberfaeth_](https://aberfaeth.tumblr.com/) for beta'ing, i don't know what i'd do without you <3  
> the title of this fic comes from Almost (Sweet Music) by Hozier 

Fig pulled the beanie down further over her head, self-conscious. Realistically, she knew that Riz had done everything but bribe the fantasy NSA to hide the address of her apartment from the paparazzi; also realistically, she knew that they could be like bloodhounds, especially when it came to her. Most people assumed she lived in Bastion City, and while Fig did have an apartment there, she mostly only stayed there whenever Riz needed her in the studio. Other than that, on the few occasions she wasn’t on tour, Fig always felt drawn back to Elmville. Something about the quaint streets and the familiar park on the corner felt like a balm to her restless soul. Like her mom or Gilear could be just around the corner. Like she was sixteen again, working on her first, terrible songs in her best friend’s basement. 

Nostalgia made the world taste like potential again, and it always helped her work through whatever writers block she was struggling with for the moment. 

But the downside of the quaint little town was how _quiet_ it was. Especially with her mom on a month-long hike with her new boyfriend, both Gorthalax and Gilear out of town working, and Gorgug on (a well-deserved but irritatingly far nonetheless) vacation with his girlfriend, Zelda. Fig was alone in her big, silent apartment, and it was itching under her skin. 

The tour bus was always loud, there was never any respite from the noise- Riz cursing at his phone, Gorgug tapping out new rhythms against the walls, the driver humming along to the same dad rock playlist he’d been listening to for years- and that was how Fig liked it. All the excess noise blurred together whenever she got in the zone, giving just enough static at the border of her attention to keep her brain on track. 

Needless to say, after three days alone in her apartment, she was nearly scratching at the walls, and the most blocked she’d been in years to boot. 

So she did what she’d always done when she felt her brain start to frazzle at the edges from under stimulation. She broke out. 

Fig leaned down further in the cafe chair she was slumped in, shoving her earbuds as deep into her ears as they would go. She closed her eyes, letting the faint buzz of the cafe wash over her, pushing her nose into the collar of the sweatshirt she’d stolen from Gorgug when they were still on tour. It still smelled faintly of the same deodorant and fabric softener he’d used since high school. Smelled like home, like Gorgug’s tight, sweaty hugs at the end of a set, or when they’d cuddle on the tour bus. 

Fig’s fingers tapped an uncertain rhythm against her keyboard. She still didn’t have a hook. Didn't have much of anything, other than a couple shitty, overdone lyric fragments that didn’t go anywhere. She needed inspiration. She needed a muse, like when she was sixteen and falling in love with a new person every week. She needed-

“Excuse me.” A polite voice said over the rumble of Gorgug’s rage music in Fig’s headphones, and she jumped a little, sitting up straight and whipping her head towards the voice. For a split second, she was certain she’d been spotted, been recognized and caught and that she’d have to sneak out the back of the cafe like a damn cliche and call Riz to have him cover her ass. But when Fig blinked up at the source of the voice, yanking her headphones out of her ears, it was just a woman in an apron, holding a notepad with her head cocked curiously. _Oh._ Fig realized. _A waitress. Duh._

_Oh._ Fig realized a second later, as the rest of her brain caught up with her eyes. _Fuck, she’s beautiful._

Tall, taller than Fig, almost taller than Gorgug if she had to guess, with beautiful hair dyed orange and red and cut short on the sides, quiffed up on the top of her head like a spiral of flame. Three or four tiny golden rings on each ear, and a handful of rings in the same gold on her fingers. Wide brown eyes over broad cheekbones and a graceful neck. Broad shoulders and hands- _fuck,_ her _hands._

Fig blinked once, hard, and smiled sheepishly up at the waitress, trying to act like she hadn’t just gone through a minor gay crisis right in front of her. _Be cool, act cool,_ Fig thought, which was ridiculous, because she was a world-famous rock star. But somehow, she still always felt like that starstruck little girl she’d been- before her life and her career shot into the stratosphere, before she became a household name and performed at the Grammy’s- terrified that she wasn’t going to be enough for people. That they were going to look at her and find her lacking. That they would see how _badly_ she wanted it, to be seen and known and wanted and _loved,_ and turn their noses up. 

“Uh, sorry,” Fig said, twisting the cord of her headphones around her fingers. 

“Welcome to Books and Brews,” the waitress said, her voice a rich contralto, “can I take your order, or did you need more time to look at the menu?”

“The menu?” Fig hadn’t looked at it at all. “Uh, no, I’ll get- uh, I’ll get just an espresso?”

The waitress nodded sharply, scribbling it down in her notebook. “Can I get you anything else?”

“Do you have like, scones?”

“Yes, we have a maple pecan scone and a blueberry one currently available.”

“Could I get a blueberry one?”

“Yes.” She scribbled that down as well. “You can pick up your order when it’s called out at the bar-“ she glanced pointedly up towards the front of the store, like she was giving Fig directions- “and pay up there as well. Could I get a name for this order?”

“Uh, Hilda. Was I supposed to order up at the bar, too?” Fig asked, suddenly nervous she’d entirely fucked this up. “This is my first time here, I’m sorry-“

“Technically, yes,” the waitress interrupted her, not unkindly, “but Adaine-“ she glanced at the bar again, this time towards a frazzled-looking blonde woman working the espresso machine- “suggested that I take your order at your table, given that you looked…” she hesitated, “distracted.”

Fig’s face felt like it was going to catch on fire. _So much for seeming cool, hotshot._ “Right. Right, sorry, I can go up to the bar-“

“It’s alright. I can take your order up now and you can pay when we call your name, Hilda.”

“Right.” The false name Fig had given on instinct felt like a rock in her stomach. “Uh, thank you.” 

The waitress nodded. “Your order will be ready soon, thank you for coming.” She turned on her heel, walking briskly back towards the bar. Fig pushed an earbud back into one ear, trying to focus on the music, trying to organize her thoughts that were threatening to spin wildly out of control. She typed out a few lyrics, a handful of chord ideas before her order was called out. Technically, _Hilda’s_ order. 

“Thanks,” Fig mumbled, handing the same beautiful waitress a handful of bills at the bar. She shoved the change into the tip jar without looking at it- one of the pros of being famous- and grabbed her espresso and scone, praying she didn’t look as bright red as she felt. 

She slumped back into her chair and shoved both headphones back in her ear, sipping at her espresso and nibbling at her scone. 

When she left the cafe- Books and Brews, the waitress had called it- a few hours later, Fig had had her most productive writing session since she got back from tour. Even if she had kept glancing up at the beautiful waitress every few minutes. Whatever, it was fine. No one had to know. 

Even if she did go back the next day. And the next. 

It became routine. Fig would wake up late and have coffee and breakfast at Books and Brews, work for a couple hours, and go back home to her apartment and order take out and call her mom or Gorgug before going to bed. It became something of a habit for Fig to make up increasingly ridiculous fake names, until it became less about her trying to prevent recognition, and more about making the barista Fig had met on her first day smile. 

“A caramel macchiato and a muffin, for Glitterdew, please.”

The waitress- Ayda, according to the name tag Fig had seen her wear a few days prior- nodded, tapping the register screen. She glanced up at Fig a couple times as she took the payment and wrote her order on Fig’s cup. “I’m not entitled to know your name,” she said slowly, still looking down at the cup, “but I am curious why you always use a new one when you come into the store.” Ayda glanced up at Fig again, an inscrutable expression on her face. “Not that it matters, we’re happy for your patronage, I was just- wondering.”

“Oh.” Fig’s face felt warm. “I guess… I’m not used to giving people my real name anymore? Kind of a… security measure.” _God, that makes me sound like a psycho killer or a wanted thief._ “Now it’s just a habit.”

“A security measure?” Ayda asked, putting the cup down beside her on the bar and cocking her head to one side. She looked kind of bird-like, head tilted and peering at Fig. Fig’s stomach squeezed in equal parts nerves and excitement.

“Uh, yeah.” Fuck it, Fig thought. “I’m, uh, Figueroth Faeth? Of the Sig Figs?” She winced a little, it always made her feel like some kind of stuck up snob when she introduced herself like that, like she thought she was better than everyone else because of a couple lucky breaks and a really good manager. She was just _Fig,_ really. Fig of the Sig Figs was just pieces of her highlighted and polished to be presentable, plastered over TV and social media. 

“Figueroth?”

“Fig, really, just Fig.” She twisted a ring around her finger. “My management keeps it pretty underground that I have an apartment here in Elmville, I’m not here a lot because of like, tours and stuff, but when I am here it’s nice not to be hounded, you know?”

“I can understand that, yes.” Ayda nodded, like Fig was being perfectly reasonable, and not telling her that she was a secret undercover world-famous rockstar. “I won’t tell anyone.” Ayda said, like she could read Fig’s mind or her face or the panic that spun through her stomach. “Well, I’ll tell Adaine, but I tell her everything. She’s my best friend and business partner, and I try not to keep secrets from her.” Ayda hesitated, “Unless you didn’t want me to tell her, I suppose I could-”

“No, it’s fine,” Fig said quickly, “I didn’t know you two owned this place.”

“Yes, we opened nearly a year ago. It’s very exciting.”

“It's a really great place, I hope you don’t mind that I work in here almost every day. My apartment’s just really quiet and it’s easier-”

“We’re always happy to have you as a customer,” Ayda said, an automatic response. Then, gentler, “I- it’s nice to have regulars, friendly faces I recognize. Like we’re connecting with the community. I’d- we’d be happy to have you work in the cafe as long as you like, Fig.”

Fig tried to ignore the thrill that went through her at Ayda’s pointed use of her real name. “Uh, cool, yeah, cool.”

“I’ll have your drink out soon,” Ayda said, smiling again.

“Thanks, Ayda.” Fig dropped her laptop bag off in an empty chair by the window while Ayda made her drink, head already spinning with a new chord progression she wanted to try out. She shot Ayda a smile when the other barista called out Fig’s order- still for _Glitterdew-_ before going back to sit at the table that she was increasingly starting to think of as _hers._

The album was finally starting to come together. She’d emailed a few lyric pages and some rough melody recordings to Gorgug and Riz with a positive response; but she couldn’t stop thinking about one of Gorgug’s passing comments. _They’re nice,_ he’d told her a few nights ago on the phone, _gentler than you usually write. Sweeter. Like you’re singing to someone specific again._

Fig loved Gorgug, he was her best friend, but it was kind of terrifying how perceptive he could be at times, how he could see down to the very heart of her without even trying. 

_Like you’re singing to someone specific again. Fuck._

* * *

The sound of someone settling into the chair across from her pulled Fig’s attention away from her laptop. “Ayda.” Fig blinked a little, “is everything okay?” 

"Yes. I’m on my lunch break, and I thought I would bring you a cookie, and we could have lunch together?” Ayda slid a small plate with a cookie on it across the table towards Fig.

“Oh.” Fig felt kind of starstruck, tracing her fingers along the edge of the plate.

“Is that okay?” Ayda’s expression shuttered, her hands fluttering around at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them. Fig wanted to grab one and press it between her palms, to pull Ayda back down to earth with her. “I can go if you’re busy, I know you have a lot of obligations as-” her voice lowered to a whisper- “a famous rockstar, and I wouldn’t want to bother you if you’re in the middle of something. I can just go-”

“No, no!” Fig said, her mouth finally catching up with her brain. She waved her hands in front of her, “I’d uh, I’d love to have lunch with you.” She quickly closed her laptop, pushing it gently to the side of the table so it wasn’t sitting in between her and Ayda anymore, piling her unplugged headphones on top of it. “I’m not that busy, really.”

“You’re in here working everyday,” Ayda argued, but she didn’t seem like she was about to rocket out of her chair and retreat across the cafe anymore, so Fig counted that as a win. 

“Touche.” Fig winked, “But that’s just mostly because I’m a social person. My apartment’s really quiet with Gorgug on vacation-”

“Gorgug Thistlespring? The drummer of the Sig Figs?” Ayda asked, like she was double checking information she already knew. 

“Yeah, he’s my best friend, and he spends like half his time between my apartment here and his girlfriend’s in Bastion City when we’re not touring. So it’s kind of- quiet and awkward when I’m there all by myself.”

“You like it when it’s loud?” Adya carefully unwrapped the sandwich she’d sat in front of her, pulling pieces of wax paper away one at a time. It was endearing, how precise Ayda was about everything, even if it did make Fig feel even more chaotic and disorganized than she normally did. “I can find it… hard to focus when there are too many voices or stimuli around.”

“I like… being around people. I’m super social and extroverted, so it starts to like, drain on me when I’m alone for too long. It doesn’t really matter if it’s _loud_ or not, I just- it’s easier to write when there’s background noise. Like white noise, when you’re trying to fall asleep,” Fig explained, hoping she didn’t sound crazy. “It fades into the background, but it’s just enough- stimulus, like you said- to keep my brain from getting distracted all the time.”

Ayda nodded. “I suppose I understand that. Being around people for a long time tends to drain me, but I do listen to music when I’m reading or writing.”

“Why go into customer service, if it’s hard working around a bunch of people? If you don’t mind me asking; if that’s too nosy you don’t have to-”

“It’s okay. Adaine and I really wanted to open something- to have something that was _ours,_ entirely. Ideally, I’d only be working in the back on stock or the accounts, but Adaine wants one of us in the front as often as possible, given that we’re the owners. Hopefully, when we’re a little more settled, I can work in the back more, but-” Adya’s eyes seemed to catch on Fig, seemed to burn into her- “I don’t mind working on the bar, lately. We’re getting a lot of regulars, it’s nice to have fr- acquaintances.”

“We could be friends.” Fig blurted, before realizing how _creepy_ and _invasive_ that probably sounded. “Shit, I mean, if you wanted, I wouldn’t mind-”

Ayda’s smile took over her face, breaking out like the sun over the horizon. It was kind of breathtaking. “I’d love to be your friend, Fig.”

“Oh. Cool. Yeah, cool.” _Smooth, Fig,_ she thought. 

“Can I ask what you’re working on?” Ayda asked, head cocked in the same bird-like way it was the first time Fig saw her. 

“Uh, it’s just the first steps towards the new album.” Fig picked her headphones up off the top of her laptop, just to have something to fiddle with, twisting the cord around her fingers. “We don’t have a firm deadline from the label yet, but I wanted to get started on it. I usually write the next album while we’re on tour for the last one, but I’ve been so fucking blocked on it ‘til-” _until I found this place. Until I met you._ “But it’s starting to come together, so. Yeah.”

“That’s fascinating,” Ayda said, and from anyone else (except maybe Gorgug) it would’ve sounded sarcastic or derisive, but Ayda sounded genuine. Like she really found Fig’s incoherent ramblings about piecing together an album interesting. “I’ve never written music before, but I used to take piano lessons and your skill on putting together unexpected harmonic chords is very impressive. I listened to some of your songs and they’re- you’re very talented.”

Fig felt like her face was going to catch on fire. She had three Grammy’s sitting on her shelf at home, half a dozen different platinum albums and twice as many gold hanging on her walls, hundreds of glowing reviews and complimentary interviews. But nothing anyone had said about her music had ever struck Fig like this. “Thanks- thank you.” Fig whispered, wishing there was a way to put into words how startlingly _much_ that had meant to her without coming across as needy or insecure. Even if she was both. “That means a lot. I’m, uh, I’m glad you liked them?” 

Ayda smiled, which made Fig feel only a little less ridiculous. 

“Did you- did you wanna hear something I’m working on?”

Ayda brightened, “Yes, that would be fascinating. Do you mind showing me?”

“No,” Fig said, even as her stomach twisted in the same old anxiety: _what if isn’t good enough, what if I‘m not good enough?_ “I’d love to show you.” She opened her laptop, angling it so both of them could see the screen, and clicked over to a beta draft she’d emailed to Gorgug for input the night before. She plugged her headphones back into her computer, passing one side to Ayda and leaning towards the middle of the table so they could share the cord and listen together. “Ready?” Ayda nodded, headphone in her ear, and Fig pressed play on the song. It played through, Fig’s voice tired and scratchy from the late-night recording. Fig glanced between Ayda and the computer screen, unsure whether it would be weird if she watched Ayda listen to her song or not, no matter how badly she wanted to. She nibbled at the cookie Ayda had brought her, trying not to disassemble the song in her head, nitpicking all the parts that weren’t good enough yet. 

“It’s not done yet,” Fig said as soon as the song ended, “I need to fix the harmonies in the bridge, and Gorgug’s better with the drum beat than I am, and I’m not sure I really like the chorus, I might change some of the lyrics, or the whole second verse, I haven’t decided, but it’ll be- it’ll be better.”

“I think it’s very good already, Fig,” Ayda said, watching her steadily. And Fig’s heart squeezed a little at how _certain_ Ayda seemed, how confident in Fig she was. 

“Thanks.” Fig mentally scrounged around for something else to say, something to keep the conversation going along. “Uh, so why a coffee shop-bookstore combo? What made you and Adaine want to go into small business owning?”

Ayda smiled slightly, tilting her head in consideration, “We wanted… the library at the private school we went to as teenagers was something of a refuge, for both of us. Stress at school, non-ideal family lives, trouble fitting in socially... it was nice to find like-minded friends in a place that felt safe.” She glanced around at the cafe around them, quietly buzzing with customers ordering coffee and chatting at tables and browsing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that covered the entire right hand wall. “We wanted to make a place like that for other people. And what better to bring people together than coffee and books?”

Fig grinned back, Ayda’s enthusiasm and determination was infectious. “It’s amazing, I really would’ve loved a place like this when I was in highschool, too. Non-ideal family stuff, social anxiety, I get that. Gorgug and I spent most of our teenager-dom his in his parent’s garage, banging out our teen angst on his dad’s old drum kit.” She laughed a little to herself at the mental image: Gorgug, still with his hair long and hanging in his face, shoulders hunched under the grey hoodie he lived in until junior year, banging against the snare while Fig brooded in the corner, box hair dye and safety pin piercings, playing minor chords on her bass til her ears rung. 

Ayda frowned a little. “I wouldn’t have expected…”

“Figueroth Faeth, participant in social outcast teen angst?” Fig filled in. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t always this cool.” She flipped a piece of hair over her shoulder and winked at Ayda, giving her the smoulder that Teen Vogue Magazine had deemed her the queen of when she was nineteen. Given Ayda’s bewildered expression, it wasn’t successful. “Yeah, highschool was- was rough. But it is for all of us, though, right?”

“I suppose so.” Ayda took another bite of her sandwich, peering at Fig like she was a puzzle Adya was still figuring out. “I was… I didn’t have a lot of friends in school. I was awkward and too loud or too quiet at the wrong times, and I was very lonely until I met Adaine.”

“Yeah, Gorgug kind of… saved my life.” Ayda’s eyebrows rose high on her forehead. “Not- not literally. Just, I was going through a really hard time at home with my parents, and all my old friends kind of abandoned me, and I was headed down a really dark spiral. But he, like, attached himself to my side and never fucking left. I’ll always owe him for that.”

“In that way, Adaine saved my life, too,” Ayda said quietly, looking down at her fingers, pressed against the table. 

“To Gorgug and Adaine, the best friends in the world.” Fig raised her cold, mostly-empty cup of coffee up in an impromptu toast. Ayda blinked at her, before raising her mug in solidarity, the same sunrise smile peeking out across her face.

God, Fig could get used to that smile. Could write choruses and verses about that smile, about the way that Ayda’s eyes sparkled in the sunlight, brown turned to gold and amber in the afternoon sun, the way her hair shone and moved like living fire.

It turned into another kind of habit, an unspoken routine. Whenever Fig was at the cafe when Ayda had her lunch break, they’d eat together. Ayda brought her lunch and usually a refill or a cookie for Fig and settling down at her- _their-_ table. 

It was nice. It was _more_ than nice, it was- Fig was writing more at once then she had in years and it was all… different. Gentler, more honest, just like Gorgug said about the first demo she’d sent him. Like instead of being _about_ someone, it was _for_ someone. 

It was more than a little terrifying, to play back a song and hear all the things she didn’t let herself think about. All the feelings she didn’t let herself admit to anyone. 

Like she was laying her heart bare.

Fig didn’t know how she was going to be able to record the album in the studio, the way it was shaping up; but she also couldn’t imagine writing anything else. The words bubbled up like water from a well, spilling from somewhere deep and honest inside her, a place she hadn’t written from since she was fifteen and her life was shattering around her feet.

It made her feel hopeful, kind of. The songs she wrote when she was fifteen- terrified and lonely and bitter, when the only place she felt safe was in Gorgug’s garage with her bass in her arms- got her their first record deal. Fig didn’t know what was going to come out of it, all the songs she wrote day in and day out at Books and Brews; but it was going to be something big.

* * *

“Fig.” Ayda sat down abruptly in the chair across from Fig, just like she always did. Fig looked up at her, already grinning. 

“Hey, Ayda, I was-” 

“I have something to ask you, and I would like you to promise to let me finish asking before you answer.”

“Uh,” Fig blinked up at her a little, but nodded. Ayda’s hands were knotted together on the table in front of her, and her mouth was pursed and nervous. “Sure. Yeah. Shoot, Ayda, whatever you need.”

Ayda nodded, and took a deep breath, like she was steadying herself for something. “Books and Brews is about to have its first anniversary, and I want to preface my question by saying you don’t have to say yes. I don’t want you to feel obligated to say yes because you think you should, or because you come here often, or because we’re-” Ayda hesitated for a split second, a flash of something uncertain flying across her face- “friends. You can say no, and I will not be angry or upset. It’s perfectly understandable, but Adaine thinks I should ask and it would mean a lot to- to the store. Um. Adaine is calling it an open mic night, next week. For the anniversary. And we were- I was- wondering. If you would- if you would want to perform. To sing or play something.” Ayda scanned Fig’s face, and like every other time, Fig felt like she was seeing right to her depths, looking in on Fig’s heart and her soul in a way no one ever had. Like she could see and understand Fig without her having to say it, or sing it, or write it down. 

“Yeah.”

“Yes? You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. You told me how precious your anonymity here is, and I don’t want you to jeopardize that for me. For us. The cafe. You could perform under a different name, or not as-” she gestured vaguely at Fig, her half-pink hair tucked up under her beanie and her day-old leggings under a sweatshirt she was drowning in- “yourself. I just.” Ayda looked at Fig, eyes wide, and Fig’s heart _squeezed._ Like she was at a show and a million people were calling her name. “I’d like to see you play.”

_Oh. Oh god._

This was the part of any kind of relationship Fig was the worst at. The being _seen._ Someone seeing her, really seeing and knowing all the parts of Fig, the things she hid about herself and lied about,. Because what if she wasn’t good enough? What if all anyone ever wanted was the idealized, perfect Fig. What if they saw all the broken pieces, the fear and doubt and paranoia that crowded her heart, and decided it was too much? That she wasn’t worth it?

What if Ayda decided she wasn’t worth it?

There was a terrified little girl that lived in Fig’s head. The fifteen year old version of herself whose dad left and whose mom was angry and distant and who was abandoned by all of her friends. The little girl who was so scared that everyone was always going to leave her, that she was never going to be enough for anyone. The fifteen year old Fig was screaming for her to walk away, to make excuses and cut ties and run. To get out before she could get hurt; to leave before someone could leave her first. 

But Fig wasn’t fifteen anymore. She wasn’t alone, she had her mom and Jawbone, Gilear, Gorthalax. Gorgug and Riz and Zelda. And maybe, she didn’t want to run.

Maybe Ayda had been looking at her the whole time.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d- I’d love to, Ayda.” The smile that broke out over Ayda’s face was warm with relief and joy. And an idea burst to life in Fig’s head. A terrifying, exhilarating, wonderful idea. Fig bit her lip, let the warmth of Ayda’s beaming smile strengthen her resolve. “Just, uh, would you want to perform with me? It’s been forever since I played alone, and you said that you played piano, so-”

“I would really love to, Fig. If you’re sure?” Fig’s heart was beating a mile a minute, but Ayda was leaning forward across the table, smiling at her, eyes alight like she was glowing from the inside. 

“Yeah. Yes.” _I’ve never been more sure._

* * *

Fig called Gorgug that night, curled in her bed with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. All residual nervous energy and caffeine. Her leg bounce-bounce-bounced and her fingers tapped a quick rhythm against the back of her phone that almost sounded like one of her songs. 

“I need a song.” Fig blurted, as soon as he picked up. There was a single beat of silence, Fig could feel Gorgug processing, checking the tone of her voice or whatever weird psychic magic he did that let him always know how she was feeling.

“A song?” He asked, voice even and curious.

Fig groaned, slumping back against her pillows. “So you know the new cafe I’ve been going to since you’ve _abandoned me?”_ Fig asked, mostly joking about the abandoning thing.

“With the cute barista?”

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up-”_ Fig muttered, rolling onto her stomach and pressing her face into her pillow briefly, groaning loud enough that Gorgug could hear over the phone. She sat back up, “Yes. Ayda. And she’s not _cute,_ she’s-” _beautiful, fascinating, brilliant;_ a million other words and half written lyrics flew through Fig’s head- “that’s not the point. They’re hosting an open mic night at the cafe next week, and she asked me to sing something.”

“Oh?”

“And I said yes, and then I asked Ayda to sing with me, because she plays piano, and she gave me her number so we could rehearse and _I don’t know what song to do.”_

“Why can’t you play one of ours? Or one of the new one’s you’ve been working on?”

“No, no, no, no, I can’t play a Sigs song that’s- they’re _ours,_ you know? And I feel like they’re all too much for an open mic.” _With Ayda._ “And the new ones...” _they’re all about her._ “They’re not done yet. I need something _else._ Something- I don’t know.” 

“Hmmm,” Gorgug hummed pensively, and Fig could almost see him scratching the hairline above his eyebrow, like he always did when he was deep in thought. “So you wanna do a cover of something?”

“Yeah, I think so. There’s less… pressure, you know? And I’ve been kind of undercover here with everyone but the owners, and Riz would kill me if I sang a Sigs song and people connected the dots. That and… I don’t know, it’s nice to not be recognized, you know? To not have that pressure and expectation on you all the time, to be the version of you everyone thinks you are.”

“You don’t have to pretend to be anyone, Fig.” Gorgug said gently. And _fuck._ He always did that. Knew exactly what she was feeling and how to say the perfect thing to unlock all the gross emotional baggage she’d buried. “You have people who know you and love you, no matter who you are.”

Fig sniffled as quietly as she could, fighting the urge to bury her face in her pillow again. “I know.”

“What about Hozier?” Gorgug asked after a moment. “He’s lowkey enough to suit a cafe’s open mic and I bet you could arrange his stuff for piano and guitar.”

“Oh.” Fig scrolled through her mental rolodex of Hozier songs. “Yeah, that could work. _Yeah._ Ugh, Gorgug, you’re the _best!”_ She pressed an exaggeratedly loud kiss to the side of her phone.

“What can I say-” Fig could _hear_ him shrugging, his sideways half smile coloring his voice- “I’m the _Significant_ of the Figs anyway.”

“God-” Fig started to complain, but then she was too busy laughing to finish her thought. And, laughing on the phone with Gorgug in her ear, the hook of a song playing in her head already, Fig thought that maybe things were all going to come together after all. 

* * *

It’s unsettling and kind of wonderful to have Ayda in her apartment. Objectively, when Fig suggested it, it was because it made the most sense. She had a piano up there, it was big and empty and sound proofed already, so they wouldn’t bother anyone even if they rehearsed late at night. She suggested it because it made _sense,_ not for any other reason. 

Not because the idea of having someone- _having Ayda-_ in her shiny empty apartment made something hot and nervous itch behind Fig’s heart. Not because she stayed up sometimes at night, unable to sleep, picturing Ayda sitting at the big piano in the living room, bathed in late afternoon light. Not because Fig was dying to make music in her apartment again, and the idea of going to Ayda’s apartment instead made Fig feel like she was going to explode. 

So, Ayda came to Fig’s apartment. To rehearse the song they were going to perform, together, at the cafe. It was fine, Fig was _fine._

Ayda settled at the piano bench like she was meant to be there, fingers fluttering over the keys. Fig hovered at her side, fiddling with the sheet music she’d found on line and trying not to irreperably crumple it in her nervousness. “Uh, so, I was thinking we could do this-” she reached over Ayda’s shoulder to put the sheet music for Hozier’s _Almost (Sweet Music)_ on the piano’s music stand- “if that’s okay? I fixed the musical arrangement last night, but we can split up the lyrics however you want to.”

Ayda leaned forward a little, scanning over the sheet music and flipping through the pages. Fig put her copy of the music down on top of the piano and crossed the room to grab her acoustic, swinging it over her shoulder. The guitar’s strap dug familiarly into Fig’s shoulder as she wrapped her hand around the neck, holding it in front of her like a safety blanket. “Is this… okay?” She asked after a minute, hating how nervous and uneven her voice sounded. “We don’t have to do it, or any Hozier song, if you don’t want to, I just thought-” _it sounded like us._

Ayda shook her head a little at Fig’s words, like she was shaking herself out of whatever thoughts had taken over her head. When she turned to look at Fig, she was smiling, warm and wide and, god, _beautiful._ “I think it’s perfect, Figueroth.” 

Fig usually hated it when people called her Figueroth. There was a reason she went by _Fig_ professionally. Usually when people called her by her full name, it reminded her of when Gilear left, the way he looked at her like she was a stranger, the strangled way he’d said her full name, like it didn’t fit in his mouth anymore. 

But when Ayda said it, eyes bright and fingers already dancing over the keys of Fig’s piano, Fig didn’t mind it. It didn’t feel like Ayda was saying her name, it felt like she was saying something else, a hidden message in the intent of her voice. _There’s a lyric somewhere in there,_ a voice in the back of her head whispered, but she pushed it away. 

“Right. Cool,” Fig said, pretending her face wasn’t bright red. “Uh, so how do you want to do this?” She picked up her copy of the sheet music and propped it up on a music stand next to the piano, glancing quickly between it and Ayda.

They worked through the song, splitting up the lyrics with Fig taking lead vocals- at Ayda’s insistence. Eventually, Fig glanced down at her phone and realized it had nearly hit 10 pm, that they’d been rehearsing- or, more realistically, talking and laughing _instead_ of rehearsing as the night wore on- for nearly four hours. 

“Uh, shit, it’s getting kind of late,” Fig said, putting her phone back down on the floor where she was sitting next to Ayda. “I know you said you had to open tomorrow, it’s cool if you wanted to head home.”

Ayda frowned, pulling her own phone out of her pocket and glancing down at it. “Yes, you’re probably right.” She glanced up at Fig with an unreadable expression. “I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome, I’m sure you’re tired and busy, and-”

“What?” Fig interrupted, “No. No, you’re not interrupting or intruding or- or anything. Honestly,” Fig laughed a little, combing her bangs up out of her face nervously, “this is the most fun I’ve had at home since I got back from tour.” She glanced around at the apartment around them, the high ceilings and shiny appliances, the couch and plushy armchair she almost never sat in. “This place gets… I don’t know, kind of lonely. I’m used to the tour bus, I spend more time there or crashing at Gorgug’s place in Bastion City than I do here. I’m not really used to living alone, so it’s nice to have someone here. And- and you’re a _really good_ musician, Ayda. I would know.” Fig flipped her hair over her shoulder like a mean girl out of a bad 80’s movie, looing pointedly over her shoulder at the handful of Grammy’s lining the mantle. 

Ayda laughed, a single loud, bright bark of laughter that settled like a spark in Fig’s chest. _Fuck,_ she loved it when she made Ayda laugh. 

“Thank you,” Ayda said, sobering, “that is… very kind.” And then suddenly, Ayda was crying, silent streams of tears flowing down her face. 

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry,” Fig said quickly, waving her hands uselessly in front of her, like she could waggle her fingers and undo whatever she’d said to upset Ayda. 

“No, no,” Ayda shook her head, “you didn’t do anything, I’m just- that was very nice of you to say.” She wiped a hand across her face, scrubbing away the tears and giving Fig a watery smile. “Um, I didn’t have a lot of friends until Adaine, and I still don’t have a lot of friends other than her, so it- it just always takes me by surprise when people- _friends-_ say nice things about me. It makes me emotional.”

“Oh. Well, I have a lot of nice things to say about you Ayda. I think you’re really fucking cool.” _Understatement of the year,_ Fig thought. “I hope it’s a… good kind of emotional?”

Ayda nodded. “Definitely. And, uh, for the record. I think you’re, uh, _fucking cool_ as well, Fig. You’re a _rockstar,_ and you’re friends with _me.”_

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be friends with you? Ayda, you’re one of the smartest, most genuine people I know. I’d probably be going crazy right now if I didn’t have you to talk to every day.”

“Oh.” Ayda was wide-eyed, staring at Fig in surprise, a tiny smile on her face. “I like talking to you everyday, too. It’s the best part of my day.” Ayda looked down at her hands, knotted together in what Fig was quickly recognizing as a sign of anxiety. 

Hey,” Fig reached out, slowly and carefully placing her hand on top of Ayda, telegraphing her movement so Ayda had time to move away if she wanted to. She didn’t, and her hands were warm and soft under Fig’s fingers. “You’re the best part of my day, too.” And maybe that was too much, maybe Fig was being too vulnerable, too obvious with her guarded heart; but it was worth it to see the gentle smile spread over Ayda’s face, the uncertainty fading from her eyes. 

* * *

The open mic night came up quickly, late nights rehearsing bled into mornings spent at the cafe in a spiral of music and coffee and _Ayda._ The morning of Books and Brew’s anniversary, Fig woke up to someone hammering on her door. She rolled out of bed, pulling a hoodie over the shirt and shorts she’d slept in, and stumbled towards the door, biting down on the urge to snap at whoever it was, yelling incoherently for her at _seven_ in the fucking morning. 

She yanked the door open to see Gorgug, leaning against the doorframe with a proud smile on his face. “Morning, Fig.”

She blinked up at him for a second, her half-asleep brain taking twice as long as normal to do the math. “Gorgug!” She shrieked, leaping forward into a hug, “You weren’t supposed to be back ‘til next week.” She leaned back, and punched him gently in the upper arm. “You ass, why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, not even phased by her punching his arm. “Something came up with the Maiden’s next demo-” his girlfriend Zelda’s band- “so we had to go back to Bastion City early, and I thought I’d come down and surprise you, since you said you’ve been so _lonely_ without me.”

“Shut up,” Fig said, reaching up on her tippy toes to ruffle Gorgug’s hair- which he agreeably leaned down to accept. “You’re the worst, I love you, come in.” Fig finally let go of him, stepping back from the door and into the kitchen to let Gorgug inside. “Let me- I have to grab my phone and it’s freezing in here, give me a sec. Make yourself at home.”

“I always do!” Gorgug called as Fig went back down the hallway towards her room, bumping up the thermostat in the hall as she passed it. She grabbed her phone off her nightstand and threw on some sweatpants before going back towards the kitchen.

Fig swiped through the notifications on her phone as she walked back down the hallway- an email from Riz, a couple different emails from the other members of their management team, a bunch of fantasy Instagram notifications, a text from Gorgug reading _omw to yours, surprise! :),_ and a text from Ayda. _I’m very excited for tonight. You’re going to be incredible._

Fig clicked her phone off and pressed it against her chest. _God, fuck, shit._ She was- this wasn’t- she was going to-

“You okay, Fig?” Gorgug asked. 

Fig nodded quickly, “Yeah, totally, it’s nothing, I’m all good!” She smiled at him, only a little manic, praying he wouldn’t pry further. She was _fine,_ it was going to be _fine._ She’d performed a thousand times, in front of audiences of millions of people. She could handle a little open mic performance in a cafe. She could handle playing across from Ayda, with her sharp brown eyes and her long fingers and her uncertain smiles and her explosive laugh and- _fuck._

Gorgug peered down at her, eyebrows furrowed disbelievingly. “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothing,” Fig shrugged, trying her best for nonchalance. “Just some pre-show jitters, you know.”

Gorgug frowned. “You haven’t gotten pre-show jitters since we were fifteen, Fig.” _Shit. He’s got me there,_ Fig thought, scowling down at her fingers. “It’s not the song I suggested, right?”

“What?” She looked up at him, “No, no, your song- the song is perfect, Gorgug. Seriously.”

“So then… what’s up?” He took a few steps closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder, warm and heavy. 

“It’s- it’s Ayda.”

“Ayda? Is everything okay? I thought you guys were friends?”

“Yeah, yeah, I mean we _are_ friends, that’s- we’re friends.”

“Oh,” Gorgug hummed contemplatively. Fig groaned, turning on her heel and stalking into the living room before collapsing face-first onto the couch. She heard Gorgug walk across the room after her before feeling his weight settle on the other side of the couch. “Have you told her?”

“Have I _told_ her?” Fig snapped, lifting her head to glare at him. “Told her what? _‘Hi Ayda, I have feelings for you but I also have pathological trust issues and push away everyone I care about because I’m terrified of getting hurt! Wanna go out and get mobbed by paparazzi because, oh yeah, I’m also a famous rock star who’s touring the world nine months out of the year?’_ Sure! That’ll go fucking perfectly!” Fig slammed her face against the couch cushion again for emphasis.

She heard Gorgug sigh softly, before feeling his hand gently on the back of her head, combing through her hair. “You don’t push away everyone,” he told her after a moment of silence. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” Fig mumbled against the couch, before sitting up. “I _know._ And I don’t _want_ to push her away, but what if I do? What if I ruin it? She’s so pretty, Gorgug. And smart and talented and kind and she treats me like- like you do. Like I’m a _person._ Like I’m _Fig,_ and not whatever fake bad ass rockstar our social media managers make me out to be. We’re friends, and it’s great, but I don’t- I can’t... “ Fig sighed, shifting on the couch until she and Gorgug were shoulder to shoulder, and she could tip her head and rest it against his. 

“I finished the album,” she whispered. “And they’re all about her.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna tell her?”

“Which part?”

“Any of it.”

“I don’t know,” Fig whispered.

“I think you should. You remember when Zelda and I met and we spent like six months circling around each other because neither of us knew how to say anything to each other?” Fig nodded her head, still leaned against Gorgug’s shoulder. “I just don’t want that for you. You deserve to be happy, Fig. No matter what the voice in your head says. You have people that love you, and we’re not going anywhere. And from what you’ve told me, it sounds like Ayda isn’t going anywhere, either.”

Fig nodded again, grabbing Gorgug’s hand with her own and squeezing. She felt him nod against her cheek, like he was answering a question she hadn’t even asked. “Thank you, Gorgug,” she whispered. 

“Always, Fig. What’re best friends for?”

* * *

The show was perfect. Everyone who performed at the open mic was funny and talented and gracious and Ayda said it was their busiest day of the year. Fig performed as _Faith_ instead of Fig or Figueroth, and Gorgug convinced her to wear a blonde wig and chunky black glasses. She wore a new Books and Brews t-shirt that Ayda made her, red with gold lettering and a stylized coffee cup. She played her acoustic and Ayda played the piano and they didn’t miss a single note and they ended the night with the biggest round of applause. After they finished, Fig whispered, _“It’s all because of you,”_ in Ayda’s ear as they bowed, just to see the blush warm her cheeks. Gorgug swept her in a hug after she found him huddling in the corner- wearing sunglasses and a ball cap like a damn celebrity cliche- and she finally introduced him to Ayda. Fig couldn’t stop smiling.

 _This_ was why she performed, _this_ was why she wrote and played music. The electricity between her and the crowd, the connection of understanding stretching out like a spiderweb. She fluttered at the edge of the crowd, touching people’s arms and thanking them for coming on Ayda and Adaine’s behalf, congratulating and complementing the other performers. 

Eventually, the crowd fizzled out, streaming out of the store and into the night. Fig kissed Gorgug on the cheek goodnight, and sent him back to her apartment, while she stayed to help Adaine and Ayda clean up. 

When the chairs were put away and the stage packed up and the floors were cleaned, Adaine headed home too, squeezing Fig’s hands warmly and glancing between her and Ayda with a wink before leaving. And then Fig and Ayda were alone.

Books and Brews felt different at night. Weirdly silent, without the murmuring of customers and the quiet rattle of the espresso machine, the gentle indie that Adaine always played through the speakers. Fig hovered by the door as Ayda wandered the shop, doing one final check to make sure everything was turned off and put away. She looked perfectly at home, hair glowing like embers in the orange street light streaming through the windows, and Fig had a song running through her head- one of the new ones off the album she’d just finished. One of the songs about Ayda, about this place, about how home could be people as well as places. It was a love song.

They were _all_ love songs.

Ayda caught her eye with a grin as she turned the last light off, opening the door for Fig to exit, before closing and locking it behind them both. Fig still felt jittery and electric from the aftermath of the open mic, of performing across from Ayda, but most of the jitters had settled into something warm and certain in the pit of her stomach. No matter what happened, Fig could hold this perfect night in her heart like a talisman. 

“You were very good,” Ayda said, hesitating on the sidewalk in front of Books and Brews, like she wanted this night to end as little as Fig did. 

“You were _amazing,”_ Fig answered, because it was a night for terrifying honesty. “We should do this again sometime.”

“I’d… I’d like that very much.” Ayda glanced down at her hands, twisted in front of her, and then back up at Fig. “Figueroth. There is something I’d like to do, with your permission. And with the understanding that you are allowed to accept or deny however you wish and there is no pressure in either direction, and you shouldn’t make assumptions on my personal feelings into account in your decision.”

“Uh, yeah.” Fig wrapped her fingers around the strap of her guitar, fighting the urge to reach out and take Ayda’s hand. “Sure. What do you want to do?”

Ayda stared at Fig for a second, her gaze heavy and inscrutable, her eyes turning to midnight and stardust in the dim street light. 

“I’d like to kiss you.” 

_Oh._

The two parts of Fig’s brain screamed at her: one to run and leave, to save herself and Ayda the pain of stumbling and failing; one to stay and to lean in and do what she’d been daydreaming about for longer than Fig wanted to admit- to herself or Ayda. 

_You deserve to be happy, Fig,_ Gorgug’s voice whispered in her head. 

“Fig?” Ayda whispered, looking terrified and already looking away. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said- we can pretend this never happened. You’re a very good friend, Fig, and I don’t want to- I’ve never done this, and-”

“Yeah,” Fig breathed. Ayda froze, staring at Fig. “Yes,” She said, voice stronger, “I’d like to kiss you too. If that’s- if that’s okay. I have for a while.” Ayda didn’t say anything, just stared at Fig, wide eyed and blinking. “Shit. Fuck, I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I? I didn’t want to- I _don’t_ want to mess this up, Ayda. I just- I don’t know what I’m doing either and I didn’t think that you-”

“You said yes.” Ayda said, her voice ticking up at the very end, like she wasn’t sure whether she was stating a fact or asking a question.

“I did, yeah.” Fig laughed a little, awkwardly. Her hands were wrapped, white knuckled, around her guitar strap, like it was a lifeboat in a rolling sea. Like it could keep her grounded, keep her from being washed away. “I do. Want to.”

“Oh.” Ayda took one small step towards Fig, one hand reaching out towards her. Fig caught Ayda’s hand in her own, almost unconsciously. Like they were two magnets, pulled together; inevitable. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, yes, yeah-” Fig breathed, leaning in to meet Ayda in the middle, and then they were kissing. 

Fig had kissed people before. Friends, strangers, back up dancers; at parties and in high school. And, one time, in the heat of the moment at one of their first major concerts, she’d kissed Gorgug at the end of the set. But none of them were like this. None of them had felt _real._

One of Ayda’s hands rested on the back of Fig’s neck, pulling her close, the other was still wrapped tightly around Fig’s hand. Fig had her arm wrapped around Ayda’s waist (she didn’t remember putting it there, but god it felt good) and was pressing up on her tiptoes so Ayda didn’t have to lean down as far. Ayda’s mouth was warm and soft and yielding and it tasted like the hazelnut coffee she drank every day. Fig’s head was spinning and she could hear the song they performed playing in the back of her mind. _I wouldn't know where to start, sweet music playing in the dark. Be still, my foolish heart, don't ruin this on me._

When Ayda finally pulled away, Fig was out of breath and couldn’t stop grinning. 

“You were humming,” Ayda whispered, her face still mere inches from Fig’s. “I liked it. It was very cute. You’re very good at that.”

“Thanks, uh,” Fig breathed, “the humming, or-”

“Both. You’re very talented at a lot of things.” Ayda was grinning at Fig, and it was maybe the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. 

“My turn,” Fig whispered, pulling her hand out of Ayda’s and slowly lifting it towards Ayda’s face. She pulled Ayda down to meet her, wishing she’d worn her tall boots, and kissed her again. And again. And again.

“We should get coffee,” Fig whispered eventually, when they pulled apart again to catch their breaths.

“We get coffee every day,” Ayda said, mildly confused. 

“No, like- like _coffee._ Like. Ayda-” Fig caught both of Ayda’s hands, pressing them between her palms against her chest, like a prayer, like she was singing a hymn in her head- “like a _date._ Dinner, or a movie, or something. I want- god, this is mortifying. I’m not good at this. At the- the talking about how I’m feeling and the not running away and the trusting people to stay and the _permanence_ thing. At any of it. But I want to. Be good at it, or, be _better_ at it, at least.

“All my songs are about you,” Fig blurted. “This whole time, the whole album I’ve been working on- it’s all you. They’re all about you.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve never had someone write a song for me before.”

“Is that okay?”

Ayda sniffed, a small stream of tears flowing down her face. “Yes. Yes, that’s- Fig, that’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me. Um, I would like to get coffee with you, yes. Or dinner. Or whatever you want. I’d do anything with you.”

“Oh,” Fig echoed. 

“I’m good at the- _the permanence thing,_ as you called it. I want- you make me want to, to do _different_ things. To perform and change and I’m not good at _that._ Not like you are. But I could be- I want to get better at that, too. With you. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, _yeah._ Yes. that’s _more_ than okay,” Fig said shakily, and then her shaky breath turned into a shaky laugh, and then she and Ayda were leaning against each other, giggling in the street. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Ayda asked.

_“Please.”_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading <33 my tumblr is _[@grasslandgirl](https://grasslandgirl.tumblr.com/)_ if you wanna talk about d20 and my inbox is always open for prompts!! also please be sure to look through the d20 gift exchange collection here on ao3 and check out their tumblr acc _[@d20exchange](https://d20exchange.tumblr.com/)_ to see all the other gifts that talented artists and authors have made!! comments and kudos always always make my day and i hope everyone has a great holiday season and new years <3


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